


A Beneficial Arrangement

by ioanite



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Disney Animated Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: disney_kink, F/M, Happy, Marriage of Convenience, Normal Life, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 17:52:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ioanite/pseuds/ioanite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. In a world where the Beast never existed, Belle chose to marry the one person in town who understood her love of books. But the old bookseller has a lot of stories to tell, and life as a shopkeeper doesn't necessarily have to be boring...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Beneficial Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt: "Belle/Owner of the library
> 
> Belle never met the beast; and being as afraid of being wedded to Gaston as she was, she accepted the proposal of the man who I assume was the owner of the book store. She lives a quiet life as a housewife? Do they go travel the world together? She cheats on him with a young fellow? Is she secretly a lesbian? The man is secretly rich as gives her his fortune so she can live her dreams? I don't know, but you do, anon!author!"

Belle lay in a field of dandelions, watching the clouds roll by and trying to calm her mind after the unpleasant—confrontation, yes, that was the right word for it—confrontation she had had with Gaston. She knew he’d found her attractive, but that proposal of his had made it clear that he only wanted her for her looks and for her womb. And to think that he had the clergyman waiting outside…! If she had shown even the slightest hint of interest, she would have been Madame Gaston at this moment. She shuddered at the thought.

Lying on the grass was doing her no good. She needed something to distract her completely. Since her father wasn’t back from the fair yet, that left her one other option. Standing up and brushing the dirt from her apron, she made her way to town, towards the old familiar shop.

Monsieur Roland was bent over his ledger when she came in. He looked up the moment the bell chimed, and his eyes lit up, his smile broadening as he came around the counter to greet her. “ _Bonjour_ , Belle. How did you know I just got in a new set of books?”

“I didn’t,” she admitted, “It’s just lucky timing. Have you shelved them yet?”

He shook his head. “I was just putting them into my records. They’re piled up on that table over there. See if there’s something you’d like. I’m sure nothing will take the place of that romantic tale of yours, though.”

Belle tried to smile at that, but at the moment, any mention of romance just brought Gaston’s proposal back to her mind, and she couldn’t repress a wince. She thought Monsieur Roland hadn’t noticed, but the old man’s eyes were sharper than she’d expected. “Is something the matter, my dear?”

She hesitated. Part of her wanted to keep the embarrassment and outrage to herself. But another part of her wanted a sympathetic ear, someone who might understand how she felt about all this. Upon seeing Roland’s kindly expression, she took a deep breath and let it all pour out. She got rather animated during the telling, pacing back and forth, her hands occasionally balling into fists. Roland listened patiently, only occasionally tossing in a “My my…” or a quiet “tsk!”. When she’d finished, he leaned on the counter and looked her over. It wasn’t the leering stare Gaston used on her, or the pitying look she sometimes saw being tossed her way when she was in town with her father. It was a curious, studied look, as though he was trying to read her innermost thoughts. At last, he nodded slightly and said “Gaston is a lout. Not even a rudimentary attempt at courtship? Ah, sometimes I worry about today’s youth. I don’t blame you in the least for throwing him out.”

Belle smiled, glad to have someone on her side. “I just wish I knew what to do about him. He’s not the sort to take a slight like this lightly.”

“No, he most certainly is not,” Roland agreed with a faint arch of his eyebrows, “As soon as he’s done picking the mud out of his ears, he’ll be at the tavern, complaining about the injustice of it all. ‘No one says no to Gaston!’” Roland tried to put on his most pompous voice. Belle stifled a giggle. Then something occurred to her, and she felt her blood run cold. “Monsieur Roland…do you think he’ll try again?”

“It seems likely,” Roland confirmed, “Perhaps he’ll try to woo you with hides or baubles…that’s how men like him operate. Or he could just wait a few days and then try again, assuming you’ve thought it over and have changed your mind. Either way, I believe another proposal is inevitable.”

Belle grimaced. “And my father will only be able to do so much to deter him. What can I do? I refuse to marry him, and it’s absurd for us to move again just because of one man.”

Roland gave her that thoughtful look again. Then he said, his tone suddenly becoming serious, “There is a way.”

Belle raised her head at once. “There is? What is it?”

He looked her directly in the eyes. “You marry someone else.”

Belle stared at him. It _did_ make sense, but…it seemed almost unreal to her. Roland must have read that in her expression, because he continued, “Obstinate as Gaston is, he’s not one to go after married women. If you were married, he might be curt towards you, but he would no longer pose a problem.”

“But who could I possibly marry?” Belle said, “I know what the people in town think of my father. None of them would want to marry the daughter of ‘the old coot!’ And frankly, I wouldn’t want any of them if they felt that way!” She could feel her indignation rising at the very thought.

 Roland just smiled mildly. “What the young see as madness, I see as eccentricity. He may have a few spectacular failures, but he’s clearly smart enough to keep the two of you living comfortably. He’s gone to the fair to sell one of his inventions, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, he has.” Belle acknowledged. She looked at Roland, a thought half-formed in her mind, but unable to fully grasp it yet. “He’s quite proud of it, too.”

“I have no doubt of that. I admire a man who continues his work, despite advancing age and numerous setbacks. And I’m always glad to see a father who wants to make sure his children are well-read.”

The idea finally crystallized in Belle’s mind, and she stepped back, grabbing onto the table for support. “Monsieur Roland, are you suggesting that you and I…”

He nodded. “I know two sudden proposals in one day is probably too much, but I’m not looking for an answer right away. Think it over, have a good night’s rest to clear your head, talk it over with your father when he returns. It might not seem like an ideal match, but I’ll make sure you are taken care of. And if nothing else, I can offer you protection from Gaston’s passions.”

Belle came back to herself then, and released her hold on the chair. “Thank you for your offer, Monsieur Roland. I’ll…I’ll let you know in a few days.”

Roland inclined his head. “At your convenience, Belle. And if you should say no, I won’t be offended. I’ll still offer you all the books you can read.”

 She smiled a little at that, grabbed two books basically at random, and left the bookshop, the conversation replaying over and over in her head. The rest of the afternoon passed in a daze, Belle tending to the various chores and preparing a light meal for herself, all the while trying to get her thoughts in order. When she tried to settle down for the night with one of her new books, and discovered she couldn’t focus enough to turn the page, she slammed it shut with a huff and decided to take Roland’s advice and sleep on the offer. Perhaps in the morning things would seem clearer.

While she awoke the next morning still feeling uncertain about her answer, her initial shock had faded, and she was able to look at things more rationally. Monsieur Roland was certainly a decent man, someone who always greeted her with a smile and happily tried to help her find something new to read. And the way he’d extended the offer to her had been so polite that she highly doubted he wanted this marriage solely for the potential of getting her into bed. The more she thought it over, the better the offer seemed. Her only hesitation was in marrying a man so much older than her. She knew this sort of thing happened all the time, but this age difference seemed particularly large to her. Then again, that was no doubt because Roland was about the same age as her father, and thus added a few unfortunate literary associations into the proceedings.

Belle quickly came to the conclusion that, while she wasn’t opposed to the idea, she wouldn’t be truly comfortable with the idea until she’d talked it over with her father. If he was comfortable with the idea, then she would accept the offer. Until then, she would push it to the back of her mind and try to get on with things, including taking a proper crack at her new books.

Gaston’s pride must have been more damaged than she thought, because he mercifully didn’t approach her again. All the same, she tried to limit her visits into town, going in to do her shopping during mid-afternoon when everyone else was eating or busy at work. She ran into Monsieur Roland once, sweeping out his shop while she was on her way to the produce stall. She gave him a tentative smile and a greeting, which he acknowledged with a nod and a reminder that he had about a dozen new books waiting in the shop if she was in the mood for something new. Nothing in his tone seemed impatient or questioning; it was just like any other interaction between them. It made Belle feel a little better; perhaps things would return to normal after all.

Her father finally returned a week later, flushed with success. He proudly presented Belle with a large number of gold coins and two new books that  he’d picked up while he was at the fair. She thanked him profusely and listened to him describe his trip to the fair in detail before she finally broached the question. “Papa…how would you feel if I got married one day?”

He looked up from his cup of tea with a faint look of surprise, but then he smiled warmly. “I’d be lying if I said it would feel a little lonely around here without you, but if the man you married was kind and could look after you, and if you were happy with your choice, then I would gladly give my blessing. Has someone made you an offer, my dear?”

Belle wondered how much of the story she should tell, but then he lay a comforting hand on her arm, his eyes glittering sympathetically, and she knew she had to tell it from the beginning. She didn’t leave out a single detail, and although she had promised herself she would be rational about it, her disgust at Gaston leaked through. When she finally finished, her father’s grip had tightened in a comforting sort of way. “You want to know how I feel about you being married to Monsieur Roland?” he said at last. She nodded. He considered for a moment. “I haven’t spoken to him much—just occasionally when I need to borrow a book on mechanics or repair—but he certainly seems to be a pleasant man. And he seems a much better fit for you than Gaston, at any rate.” Belle couldn’t help but smile at that. He continued, “So I believe I would be happy to see you married to him. I’ll go over to the bookshop tomorrow to talk things over with him and make absolutely sure.”

Belle looked down shyly. “Thank you, Papa.” Perhaps it wasn’t the ideal marriage, but at least she wouldn’t have to worry about Gaston any longer. And really, it wasn’t such a bad life, being married to a bookseller. Now she would have a reason to be reading all the time.

The next morning, her father went into town to buy some supplies for his next invention. He was gone for a long time, and when he finally came back with several bags of bolts and other tools, the broad smile on his face was all the answer Belle needed. After lunch, she went into town herself, holding the two books she’d borrowed.

Monsieur Roland looked up from his ledger when he came in. “It’s good to see you again, Belle. How did you like those books?”

“They were lovely, thank you,” she said, setting them down, “Monsieur Roland, I’ve thought about your offer, and I’ve decided to accept it.”

Roland reached out and laid a hand on hers. “Thank you, Belle. I promise that I will do right by you.”

“I’m sure you will, Monsieur Roland.”

“Please, call me Henri. We are engaged, after all.”

“Henri,” Belle repeated, trying to get used to the sound, “In that case, Henri, when should we have the wedding?”

“I think we should make the announcement right away. As for the actual wedding, a few months should suffice. That should be enough time to get a dress made and a meal planned out. Unless you have another suggestion.”

“No, that will be fine,” Belle assured him, “Um…if you’re free this evening, my father and I would love to have you over for dinner. We’d like a chance to spend more time with you before the wedding.”

“Very kind of you,” Ro—Henri said, “I’ll come round at sundown.” Then, noticing the slight tension in her shoulders, he took the books from the counter and gestured at the shelves. “Go on, pick out some new ones. I’m sure there are some in here you’ll absolutely adore.”

***

Belle and Henri Roland were married three months later. She wore a simple white dress that she had made herself, he wore a fine suit that fitted him nicely. Her father gave her away with tears in his eyes, and the little church was surprisingly full, no doubt because the villagers were surprised that little book-reading Belle had finally managed to snag a husband. Gaston was conspicuously absent, although he did appear for a minute outside the church once the service was over to grudgingly press Henri’s hand and give an over-long kiss to Belle’s cheek, wishing them both well, and then he vanished again. Henri raised his eyebrows at her, and she had to cover her mouth to hide a smile.

The rest of the wedding day passed in a sort of haze; they had the traditional wedding dinner, where there were toasts and several lovingly cooked dishes. Then there was some dancing, and despite Belle’s limited experience with it, she danced several times with both her father and Henri, both of whom could guide her through the steps. By the time Belle bid a good-bye to her father and accompanied Henri to his bookshop, the sun was starting to set. Henri opened the door and gestured for her to go through. “Forgive me for not employing the ‘carry the bride over the threshold’ tradition,” he said with a rueful smile, “The spirit is willing but the bones are weak.” She gave a tentative smile back and entered the shop, taking comfort in the familiar sight of shelves full of books.

Henri led her up an unobtrusive staircase to his rooms, which apparently consisted of a small kitchen, a study, and a bedroom. Belle’s small amount of possessions had been moved over by Henri and her father the evening before, and they were arranged neatly against the wall of the bedroom. She reached out tentatively towards the white nightgown she saw hanging off the door before pausing to look back at Henri. “Would you like me to change somewhere else? Or do you want to…help me?”

Henri shook his head and chuckled. “Belle, you really are a dear woman.” She gave him a strange look, and he continued, “I presume by your question that you have a vague idea of what happens during the wedding night?”

“Yes.” she said hesitantly. Henri opened the drawer on a nearby nightstand and withdrew a book with an elaborate cover. “I would be no better than Gaston if I expected you to just passively lie still and not get any enjoyment out of the whole business. So I believe we will postpone that end of things until you’ve read through this.”

He placed the book in her hands, and she glanced at it with some surprise; she’d never seen this in the shop before. At her inquisitive glance, he raised his shoulders and said “Having a book like this readily available and out for all to see is a good way to find myself run out of town.” Then he gave her a little bow. “I’ll spend tonight in my study. The sofa is quite comfortable. We’ll talk more in the morning. Sleep well, Madame Roland.” Then he gently kissed her cheek and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Belle was admittedly bewildered by all this. But as Henri’s footsteps receded, she felt an unexpected surge of affection and gratitude towards him. He really _was_ looking out for her best interests. She clasped the book to her chest in an approximation of a hug, saying a silent prayer of thanks. Then she reached for her nightgown again and swiftly prepared for bed. Once she slid under the covers, she reached for the book again and took a closer look. The title seemed relatively innocuous, and the cover drawing of a couple embracing could be found on any other book. Curious, she flipped to a page in the middle of the book and…oh. She could feel the heat rising to her face as she looked at the picture confronting her. She’d only heard of one way to make love, but if this picture was any indication, there were many, many ways to go about it.

Flustered as she felt, her natural curiosity won over, and she turned back to the beginning of the book and began to read. She read cautiously at first, then with increasing eagerness. By the time she was a quarter of the way through, she was starting to feel decidedly warm. She forced herself to stop with half the book to go, wanting to be fully alert so she could fully appreciate the descriptions. It took her a long time to fall asleep, her mind buzzing with everything she’d read, and when she finally slept, she dreamed of bodies coming together in a tangle of limbs, looks of pleasure etched on their faces.

A light tap on her door woke her up. “Belle? It’s Henri. I’ve brought you some breakfast.”

She blinked, shaking her head to try to clear her mind. “O-oh. Come in!”

Henri entered the room with a small tray of eggs and toast. “I’m not much of a cook,” he half-apologized, “But I can at least make some rudimentary dishes.”

“You didn’t have to do this.” Belle protested, but Henri patted her on the hand. “I want you to feel comfortable here, with this new life and with me.” As he set down the tray, he caught sight of the book on the nightstand, and gave her a knowing smile. “I see you’ve been doing your research. What do you think?”

She knew she was blushing again. “It…it seems very interesting. I’d never thought about it in _that_ way before. It’s certainly something I would be willing to explore.”

Henri nodded. “Whenever you’re ready, my dear. Until then, however, would you mind very much if we shared the bed? Just to sleep, of course. It’s something we’ll both have to get used to, one way or the other, so it’s best to start early.”

He sounded so matter-of-fact about it that Belle could tell he was being sincere. “Yes,” she said, “That would be fine with me. You can start tonight, if you’d like.”

“I will do so, then,” he said, sitting down next to her and stealing a piece of toast, “Now, as for today, you are of course free to stay up here and get used to your new rooms. But if you would like, you can come down to the shop and help me behind the counter. I would appreciate the company.”

The prospect of spending the entire day surrounded by books was too good to pass up. “I’ll come and help you,” she said, “Perhaps I’ll be able to give recommendations to the customers.”

“That’s the spirit!” Henri said, “I’ll be delighted to have you.”

They sat and talked while Belle ate, sticking to practical things like the running of the shop. Henri took the tray when she’d finished and left to allow her to get dressed. When she descended the stairs fifteen minutes later, Henri was already behind the counter, looking over his ledger. Since there was no one in the store at the time, Belle took it upon herself to tidy up a little. Henri obviously did his best to keep the floor and tables tidy, but the upper shelves were a little dusty. Belle grabbed a feather duster and set to work.

Midway through the job, she heard the door creak open and glanced behind her. The candlemaker was in the door, looking around a little apprehensively. Henri approached him with the same pleasant smile he gave to all his customers. “Good morning, Charles. What can I do for you today?”

“I’m not entirely sure…you see, my son is just at the age where he should be learning to read. I need a book that would appeal to children and also has a lot of easy words.”

“Well, we have plenty of books of fairy tales,” Henri said, “Perhaps Belle here can make some suggestions.”

Belle was surprised, but quickly stepped off the ladder, grabbing two books on the way down. “Monsieur Roland is right. The bookshop has several _wonderful_ fairy tales. This one here has five tales in all, but they feature a lot of princesses and quests for true love, which might not appeal to your son at this age. But this book here,” and she offered up the second book, her natural enthusiasm for reading taking over, “Has only three stories, but they’re all full of adventure and swordfighting and dragons and all the sort of things that would enthrall a young boy. I think I’d recommend this one over the other one.”

Charles’ eyes lit up. “That sounds perfect! How much?”

As the man left the shop, Henri smiled at Belle. “Your first sale. Well done. I think you’ll be an excellent saleswoman. After all, who knows the books here better than yourself?” Belle just flushed and returned to her cleaning.

The rest of the day was rather uneventful. They got one or two more customers, but the day was mainly spent cleaning up and organizing the books. In the afternoon, Henri went out and bought them some bread and cheese, which they ate while discussing the possibility of arranging the books by genre and author instead of genre and title. As the sun started to set, Henri closed and locked the door to the shop. “What do you think, Belle? The life of a bookseller may not be glamorous, but I would say it isn’t all bad.”

“Oh no,” Belle agreed, “It’s a simple life, but it suits me well enough.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Henri said, lighting a candle and offering her his arm, “Although I’m not surprised. You’re the sort of person who will never be happy unless she has something new to see or do. That’s why you read so much.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Belle mused, “I’ve always wanted to travel more. See other towns and cities, maybe even ones outside of France. But that would make it hard for Papa to make and sell his inventions, so I’ll just make do with the books.”

Henri said nothing for a moment. Then, as they reached the upstairs rooms, he changed the subject. “Would you like to make dinner together? Perhaps you can suggest something other than plain soup.”

That night, he remained in the bedroom, although he still politely looked away while she was getting undressed. “Feel free to continue your reading,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the book, “I have some things to look over myself. If you have a question, don’t hesitate to ask.”

So they sat and read together, Belle enthralled by the various techniques, Henri flipping through a book and making little notes. He only looked up when he heard Belle close the book. “Finished?” When she nodded, he continued, “Are there any in there that are of particular interest to you?”

She blushed again. “There were a few. I think the one that interested me most was…”

“Not tonight,” he interrupted politely, “You should have another day to process it all. Tomorrow, we can start to explore. But I’m afraid it will have to be fairly slow; I’m not as young as I used to be.” He laughed a little.

Belle knew he was right, but she couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. Henri must have noticed, because he softly kissed her cheek. “Hopefully, you will think it worth the delay. Goodnight, Belle.”

He blew out the candle and lay down. She followed his example, tentatively draping her arm around him. Even in the darkness, she could tell he was smiling. He shifted a little, letting her head brush against his shoulder. He smelled like paper and ink, which was comforting enough to let her drift off to sleep.

The next day passed much like the first, but Belle found herself full of nervous energy, drumming her fingers against the tables and shelves and constantly moving around, even when there was nothing to do. Henri had a half-smile on his face all day, but didn’t comment on her fidgeting. And that night, as he closed up the shop, he took her hand and kissed it, which made her body twinge in an unexpected but still oddly satisfying way.

This time, he did not turn away as she undressed for bed, but watched her mildly, something glittering in his eyes. She felt a little awkward, but it was oddly thrilling to deliberately disrobe in front of someone. When she was done, she didn’t reach for a nightgown, but stood there naked, arms hanging loosely at her sides. Henri looked her up and down, and then gestured to the bed. “Find the pages that most interest you,” he said, “And I’ll be ready presently.”

Belle quickly reached for the book and started looking for the illustrations that had most intrigued her. While she did so, she heard the rustling of cloth, and paused in her search every few seconds to peek over the top. Henri might have been old and a little bent, but his body was in remarkably good shape, more wiry muscle instead of brittle bone.

Henri climbed into bed beside her, and she showed him her favorite picture. “Ah, yes, that one,” he said, “A little daunting for a beginner, but I think we should both be able to handle it. But first, you’ll want to feel properly relaxed. Now just lie still for a moment while I attend to this.”

It was like nothing Belle had ever experienced before. There were touches and kisses and a use of tongue that she never could have dreamt of. And when they got into the act proper, it only stung for one brief second, immediately replaced by warmth and odd tingles. It wasn’t perfect—she was never sure what to do with her arms, and Henri’s movements had no pattern, making it hard to find a rhythm—but when it was all over, and they lay pressed against one another, Belle decided that she would be quite happy if they spent every night exploring a different page of that book.

***

Before the wedding, whenever Belle had mused over the life she was entering into, she had assumed it would be fairly simple, even a little dull, but with a fairly steady influx of new books to keep her occupied. She had been right, in part; the job of a bookseller was straightforward enough. But when the shop was closed…things were quite different indeed.

Henri, having noticed her desire to learn new things, presented her with several language books, ranging from simple (Spanish), to a book that was filled with odd scratches that represented words (Chinese, or so Henri said). They took to spending their suppertime, as well as their downtime in the shop, looking over the books, Henri teaching her various pronunciations and the occasional new conjugations. As she improved her skills, they would sometimes have entire conversations in other languages, Henri moving from one to the other to keep her on her toes.

“How do you know all this?” Belle asked him one night, as he easily pronounced a word she’d been struggling with for three minutes, “Surely you can’t have simply taught yourself.”

“No, you’re right,” he said, “I traveled a fair bit when I was younger. There was a period of two years where I made my living moving from town to town, doing little jobs here and there, as I drank in the language and culture. It wasn’t always the easiest life, but there was always the potential for something new.”

Belle looked up at him eagerly. “What was it like? Tell me everything!”

He laughed at her enthusiasm. “Very well. But I don’t want you to stop your practice; I’ll be telling you these tales in the appropriate language.” Which he proceeded to do, switching effortlessly from one language to the other, speaking slowly enough that Belle could grasp most of the words and stopping whenever she asked him to define a word. They were wonderful stories, full of amusing incidents and beautiful descriptions of the countrysides and buildings. It was almost as good as reading a book. When he had finished, she looked up at him with glittering eyes. “That’s remarkable, Henri. I never knew you were so well-traveled.”

He shrugged pleasantly. “It was a long time ago. When I felt I was growing too old to travel, I moved here, where life was slower-paced and I could do what I liked.” Belle could understand that, but she couldn’t help but look at him with new eyes.

Sometimes—not every night, but at least several times a week—after the lessons were over, they would retire to bed and try to replicate another one of the pages in the book. Belle found that with each new page, she was growing more comfortable in the act, the sensations feeling ever more pleasurable to her. Here, too, Henri was a patient teacher, and seemed inordinately pleased with himself the first night that she stiffened and actively gasped with pleasure. “Well then,” he said, when she managed to focus her gaze back on him, “I shall have to try to accomplish this every night.” And while he wasn’t always successful, it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying.

Once a month, Henri would leave to a nearby city to find more books for his shop. The first time, he left her in charge of the store, wanting her to have the experience. He was gone for a week, and Belle felt that the shop and the little rooms were actually too big for her, and although she diligently worked on her lessons, she felt they would have gone so much easier if she’d had Henri there to help her. That was when she realized that the warm feeling she’d always had for him had developed into something more. She wasn’t sure if it was love, exactly, but it was a contentedness that could make its absence painfully known. Belle didn’t know how to put it into words, but when Henri came back, she greeted him with an embrace and a warm kiss, which he accepted with a chuckle and a gentle smile.

The next month, and for many of the subsequent months, he locked up the shop entirely and took her with him. It was Belle’s first experience traveling, and she loved every minute of it. Watching the path change before the wagon, seeing new trees and hills, finally coming over a rise and seeing the city for the first time, far larger than the little town…it was like she had fallen into one of her books. Once in the city, the pleasure only increased, as there were so many more things to see and do. The bookseller’s was far grander than their own little shop, but Belle didn’t overly mind. She was left standing awestruck inside, looking around at the walls, piled floor to ceiling with books. It would have taken her at least a year to get through all of them, and she would have enjoyed every minute. Once she came out of her amazement, she joined Henri at the counter. It seemed that he selected  his books based on recommendations from the shopkeeper, a grey-haired man named Rochard who looked far too serious. Henri glanced over at Belle with a hint of a smile and said, “Why don’t you look over some of the shelves and pick out some books that seem interesting to you. I know the customers trust your judgment, so I shall as well.” Belle all but sprinted for the shelves, vaguely aware of Henri’s chuckle behind her. With admirable restraint, she limited herself to the first bookshelf, selecting some two dozen books. When she returned to the counter, she glanced apologetically at Henri. “Does this go over your budget, Henri?”

He laughed. “A little,” he said, “but not by much, and I don’t mind paying a little extra. After all, I know they’ll be read.” He turned back to Rochard and started discussing price, leaving Belle blushing but pleased. Afterwards, they went to a little bistro for dinner and spent the night in an inn, Belle taking one of the new books to read. Then they made the journey homewards, Henri driving so Belle could spend more time with the new books.

In subsequent months, they visited various bistros and stayed at different inns, so Belle could see more of the city. She knew Henri was doing it for her benefit, and was incredibly grateful for it, although he dismissed it with a wave whenever she thanked him for it. “I’m always willing to try something new,” he said, “You just happen to be a handy excuse.” Excuse or not, Belle enjoyed the visits, glad for a chance to have a bit of an adventure, even if it was only a few miles from home.

***

Twice a week, they had dinner with her father; once at his cottage, once in their rooms. Henri and her father would talk over Papa’s latest invention, Henri offering little suggestions or just staying quiet and letting her father bounce ideas off him. Belle contributed when she could, but she had her own topics of conversation as well. The three of them would talk about Belle’s studies (her father was delighted to hear the various languages), about the latest news in the village or scraps of gossip about the wider world, or about the various events in their lives. He was the first one to hear, seven months after the wedding, that he was going to be a grandfather; he nearly fell off the chair with joy, and she knew the news would be all over the town by tomorrow morning.

Henri apologetically told her that she should cease accompanying him to the city until after the baby was born—“As much as I love your company, I don’t want to put you or the child at risk.” She understood, disappointed as she was, but was reassured when he told her they could resume their trips together once the child was a few months old and fit enough to travel. Other than those few weeks, Henri was quite attentive to her, bringing her little things to eat to keep her strength up and providing her with hot cloths or herbs to deal with the various aches and pains of pregnancy. When she entered her ninth month, he didn’t go on his trip at all, preferring to be nearby should she go into labor. And when the day finally came, he was quick to send round for the midwife, and stayed in the room despite the woman’s protests, holding Belle’s hand and murmuring reassurances.

Émile Roland was born ten hours after Belle went into labor. He was a healthy baby who started screaming as soon as the midwife began to clean him up. Belle, exhausted, nevertheless reached out for him as soon as the midwife had wrapped him in a blanket. She and Henri looked down at the small bundle with tired but warm smiles. There was just enough energy left for them to decide on Émile as a name, and then she fell asleep, leaving the baby in Henri’s no doubt capable hands.

Belle had thought having a baby in the house would have put everything else on hold, but she was surprised once again. While they weren’t as intimate as before, and she was in the shop less often so she could keep an eye on Émile, the language lessons continued, only now she was rocking her son to sleep and singing him lullabies made up of various foreign words, or practicing her languages on him as she tried to feed him or get him to sit still as she bathed him. Henri watched all this in approval; “Our son will be able to speak in four languages before he ever attends school,” he said proudly, “He’ll have a leg up on me, that’s for certain.”

Belle’s reading habits didn’t diminish much either. She quickly learned how to support Émile on one shoulder while she read with the other, or rocking him in the crib her father had made for him while she read, ready to drop it at a moment’s notice if he cried out. Naturally, she read to him as well, not just the children’s fairy tales but any book that didn’t have inappropriate content. He seemed to like the sound of her voice, and often reached out for the book as though he was eager to try this reading out for himself. It was not a surprise to either of his parents when his first word was “Read.”

Encouraged by his parents, Émile learned to read at a young age, and began to be taught writing not long later. As expected, he was semi-fluent in Spanish and Germanic dialects, although they decided to wait until he was a little older before they started working on Chinese. Belle continued to read to him, although now she avoided works of philosophy, feeling he was a little young to be contemplating the meaning of life.

As Henri had promised, Belle started accompanying him to the city again, this time with Émile in tow. He seemed as awed by the city as she was, and laughed and waved at everything they passed. When he got a little older, he asked an endless stream of questions from the moment they spotted the first buildings to the moment he was tucked into bed. Passerby seemed charmed by him, and would sometimes chime in to answer his questions. He might have been a handful, but Belle and Henri were delighted by his inquisitive mind. “Perhaps he will be a great scholar,” Henri mused one night, “And answer some of the world’s mysteries.”

“Or perhaps he will be an inventor like Papa,” Belle said, stroking her son’s hair as he slept, “and create something that will change the world.”

When Émile was three, Belle once again discovered she was pregnant. Although he was a little bewildered by the concept, he seemed delighted to have a new playmate. He wasn’t even all that put-out by the fact that he and Belle couldn’t go to the city for a while, content to stay at  home and ask her questions about the baby (although he fortunately managed to avoid the awkward question of how the baby had come to be in the first place). And when little Mirelle was born, he actually seemed happy that he had a sister. “Now we’ll be able to play fairy tales!” he said happily, and Henri laughed and ruffled his hair.

Thus it all began again—the foreign language lullabies, constantly being read to, journeys to the city—only now Émile was there to help. While he had to be taught that babies had less energy than children, he was allowed to come to Mirelle’s crib and talk at her in various languages, or sit quietly as Belle read to both of them. In this way, Mirelle grew up also able to understand several languages, and although her first word was the more conventional “Maman”, she still seemed eager to be read to and learn new words. She wasn’t as inquisitive as her brother, but she still looked around with interested eyes at everything. She was also more shy, shrinking behind her parents legs whenever someone spoke to her, but Henri tried his best to get her to open up a little more.

(Belle did learn one new interesting fact about her husband in the course of all this. As Mirelle’s hair grew in, it came out reddish-brown instead of pure brown like Émile’s. Henri acknowledged that yes, he had once had a full head of red hair. She tried to imagine it, and decided that she quite liked the image.)

As the children grew up, life in the bookshop became quite pleasant indeed. The children were allowed to come down and help in the bookshop, putting books away and carefully cleaning the floor. Dinnertime was often spent chatting in multiple languages, except for the days when they had dinner with her father, when they returned to French. Her father doted on the children, and brought them toys he’d made himself or sweets he’d bought in the market. He promised them both that they could visit his workshop once they were a little older, and they both seemed quite excited at the prospect. Once they were old enough to start attending school, they took to it happily, although Émile seemed disappointed that they weren’t learning other languages. Although both children seemed happy enough to stay at home, work on their lessons, and play their little games, Henri encouraged them to go out and play with the other children. “They may have new ideas for games to play,” he said, “and perhaps you can teach them some of your own. You can’t learn everything from books, you know.”

Mirelle was a little more hesitant about it, but as long as Émile was nearby, she was willing to try. While they rarely brought friends home to the bookshop, they did spend a little more time outdoors, play-acting with the other children by the fountain in summer and wrestling in the snow in wintertime. Henri seemed satisfied with this, and Belle was glad that they were happy.

As for Henri and Belle, their relationship remained warm and studious. Belle was fully fluent in the various languages now, so there were no more lessons, but still plenty of chance to practice them. There was still a constant stream of books coming in, so she had plenty to read in her spare time. And although it wasn’t as frequent as it had been early in their marriage, they did, eventually, manage to work their way through every page in the book. It might have been part of the provincial life, but it felt so much more fulfilling. There was no need to dream of the future; enjoying each moment of the present was enough for her.

***

Émile was thirteen, Mirelle was ten, and Belle was thirty-two when Henri went to bed one night and never woke up. In the back of her mind, Belle had known that he would pass long before she did, but it was still a shock. Although he wasn’t as strong or energetic as he used to be, he was in good health and spirits. The doctor who examined him assured her that he had died peacefully in his sleep, with no pain, but that only provided her with a small comfort. If she hadn’t had Émile and Mirelle to think about, she was sure she would have shut herself up in the shop and been unable to come out. As it was, she did her best to comfort her children.

A surprising number of people came out for the funeral. Gaston appeared briefly to pay his respects, but disappeared almost as soon as he arrived. Belle hadn’t been keeping track of him, and he certainly hadn’t ever come round to the shop, but according to her father, he had eventually married one of his blonde hangers-on, and she had produced five children, four boys and one girl. (Of course, gossip being what it was, a few people couldn’t help but notice that the other two girls also had a black-haired son each, when their husbands had brown hair.) Other than him, however, everyone had wonderful things to say about Henri. Although business had never been brisk, it seemed he’d had an impact on the town nevertheless. Hearing the stories made tears come to Belle’s eyes, but it also shook her out of her numbness a little. She realized that he had made an impact on her life as well, and he wouldn’t want her to spend all her time in mourning. So as painful as it was to wake up and realize he wasn’t there, she would do her best to carry on.

Initially, she had thought that she would continue on at the shop, at least until Émile was old enough to look for a profession (with another painful stab at her heart, she realized that her father would have passed on by that time), at which point she would sell the shop and move to the city with Mirelle, which would give them more opportunities. But all that changed when, a week after the funeral, the solicitor came by to read the will to her.

Belle had managed the ledgers for the store, of course, so she knew that they had enough money to keep the store open and to comfortable take care of four people, but the amount the solicitor read out was positively astounding. It wasn’t enough to qualify her for the landed gentry, but it was enough for her to live comfortably for the rest of her days, with enough left over to provide a dowry for Mirelle and a small starting sum for Émile. “There must be some mistake…” she said weakly.

“No mistake,” the solicitor said, producing a sealed letter and handing it to her, “I was instructed to give this to you as well.” Belle immediately ripped open the letter and saw Henri’s handwriting, shaky but legible; it had probably been written when the children were still in single digits.

 

My dearest Belle,

No doubt you have been taken aback by the sum the solicitor has read out to you. Rest assured, it is very real. I never mentioned it because I felt no need for it. We were all quite happy where we were, and, if I’m honest, I wished this to be one last surprise for you, and perhaps a comfort after I was gone.

I told you several tales of my youth and my travels through Europe. However, I did not just travel by foot. I eventually took on a job with a merchant, partially for the money, but mostly so I could travel the world. That is how I came to learn Chinese—I was always surprised that you never asked. I worked as a merchant for most of my adult life, and saved my money carefully. When I was too old to continue the work, I had a fine sum to my name. I decided to retire to this village and open a bookshop, which would provide a little income, but would mostly give me a chance to broaden the horizons of the villagers. I got more than I expected from you.

I have left the shop, the books therein, my few possessions, and all my money to you and the children. It has sat idle long enough, and my wish is that you, Émile, and Mirelle spend it how you see fit. While I’m sure some of it will go towards education and dowries, I hope you can find more pleasurable uses for it. Above all, I hope at least a portion of it is spent on travel. I taught you all those languages in the hopes that you would strike out on your own, taking advantage of your widowhood to move about freely without need of a chaperone. No doubt you are still quite young—you have many traveling days ahead of you. Go where you will and do what you will, but please, have the adventures you read about in books. Perhaps you can convince the children to join you.

Although I know our marriage was not a love match, I was always fond of you, and you were a wonderful wife and an excellent mother. I could not have asked for anyone better. I can only hope that I was as good a husband and father.

Be well, Belle. Look after the children until they’re old enough to look after themselves, and enjoy all that life has to offer. If there is such a thing as an afterlife, rest assured that I am watching over you.

With the tenderest affection,

Henri Roland

 

Belle sat staring down at the letter, reading it over and over again. It wasn’t until her vision blurred that she realized tears were running down her face. She managed to thank the solicitor and send him on his way. Then she put her head down on the desk and cried, her first real, proper cry since Henri’s death.

Émile came in when he heard the door close. “Maman! What is it?”

Wordlessly, she handed him the letter. Even through her tears, she could hear him gasp. “Is this true?”

She nodded. “What…what are you going to do with it?”

“Give me a minute, Émile. Show the letter to your sister. I’ll be upstairs presently, and then we can talk about it.” Belle choked out. Émile carefully laid a hand on her shoulder, and then she heard his footsteps moving off. She cried until there were no tears left. Then she straightened up decisively, wiped her eyes, and headed upstairs.

Émile and Mirelle were waiting for her, looking at her with wide-eyes. She sat down in a chair, and they instinctively came to sit on the floor beside her, heads resting on her knees. Smiling, Belle started to stroke their hair. “Well, you’ve read the letter. And I think it would be doing your father a disservice if we didn’t at least try to do as he asked. But Mirelle should finish her schooling first, and we need to think about the long-term future. Do either of you have any suggestions?”

They talked long into the night, looking up things in books and making calculations. By the time the sky started to brighten, they had worked out a rudimentary plan. Belle rose from the table and embraced her children tightly. Without a word being spoken, they all headed into the main bedroom and prepared for bed. It was a bit of a tight fit—Émile had grown quite tall—but it felt right for them to share the bed as a family.

***

“Hurry up, Émile!” Mirelle called out, clapping a hand to her hat as a gust of wind flew past, “We don’t want to arrive too late for the market to close!”

Émile came over to the wagon, a touch of red in his cheek. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I was just saying goodbye to Claudine.”

“I _knew_ you were sweet on her!” Mirelle teased, pinching her brother’s arm, “Perhaps we should have invited her along.”

“Children…” Belle admonished gently, climbing into the wagon and gathering up the reins, “Let’s not start off this trip by bickering. There will be plenty of time for that in the coming months, after all.”

 “Sorry, Maman,” Mirelle said, climbing into the back of the wagon, “It’s nerves.”

 Émile sat beside his mother. “Do you want me to take the reins?”

 “I can manage,” Belle assured him, “Besides, I feel I owe it to the horses to guide them over the familiar terrain one last time. Now, are we sure we’ve got everything? Trunks?”

“All five of them.” Mirelle acknowledged.

“Necessary Papers?”

“Right here.”

“Books?”

Mirelle laughed. “Yes. And even if we had left some behind, I don’t think it would have mattered much.”

“And have we said goodbye to everyone?”

“Yes,” Émile said, “I even made sure to put flowers on Papa and Grandpapa’s graves.”

“Me too.” Mirelle said. Belle smiled, for she had done the same thing herself. “Then I think we’re ready.” She clicked to the horses and they set off, moving at a slightly slower pace due to the weight of the cart.

It had all been arranged. The bookstore had been sold to a nice young man who was the son of the schoolteacher, who promised to take good care of it. When they got into the city, they would sell the horses and cart for a fair price, and spend a night at the inn. The next day, they would board a carriage bound for the nearest port. They had already booked passage on a ship headed towards Greece, although they weren’t sure that would be their final destination. It all depended what caught their eyes. The books were there to pass the time, and also to use for trade if it came to that.

As the horses reached the outskirts of town, Belle took one last look at the town she’d spent her whole life in up to now. She knew she’d miss it, and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever come back to it. But the great wide somewhere she’d once dreamed of was calling out to her louder than ever, and she would be a fool if she didn’t answer back. With a smile and nod, she turned her eyes back to the road, looking forward to the moment when her eyes lit on unfamiliar ground.


End file.
